Oh, the Humanity!
by bj
Summary: A short farce in which Toby is mistaken for an alien, Leo shows up out of nowhere to save the day, and the President gets the last line.


Title: Oh, The Humanity  
Author: BJ Garrett  
Rating: G  
Summary: A short farce in which Toby is mistaken for an alien, Leo shows up out of nowhere to save the day, and the President gets the last line.  
Feedback: If you've got it, flaunt it. northernirony@yahoo.ca or allcanadiangirl@lycos.com  
Archive: I pity the fool, but sure.  
Disclaimer: Grossly distorted as they may be, these characters do belong to Aaron Sorkin, so, as the line goes, if you want to pay for this, pay him, you fool.  
Author's note: This is really weird, but I figure I'm due for something both plotless *and* stupid:) Enjoy.  
  
  
Oh, The Humanity  
by BJ Garrett  
  
The fire crackled with a melancholy mutter as Foster rolled the scotch on his tongue. Misty stared at him from the settee, her velvety brown eyes heavy-lidded in the darkened study.  
  
"Don't you think it's time we talked about the papers?" she asked, her Southern drawl a mystery in his ears.  
  
Shrugging imperceptibly, Foster rolled the thought in his mind. It tasted very bad. "Now's not the time for that."  
  
Her breath quickened, and he could see a flush burn across her high cheekbones as she realized what he'd said. Insisting on playing the innocent, she asked breathily, "What is it time for?"  
  
He looked up, meeting her gaze, water to chocolate. "You know."  
  
The sound she made as she flew into his arms was half-sob, half-moan.  
  
The fire roared, then murmured in appreciation of the scotch.  
  
The End  
  
*  
  
The disk was tucked in his jacket pocket. Everyone looked at it as he walked in, but no one said anything. Death to the one who questions Toby Ziegler. Well, maybe not death, but at least a lethal stare. If looks could kill, Toby'd be ordered blinded by the courts.  
  
"Good morning," Ginger chirped at him. "Here's your coffee."  
  
Taking the mug, he smiled graciously and said, "Thank you, and good morning to you, Ginger. How are you today?" and sailed on into his office as she stood dumbfounded.  
  
Sam walked in a moment later. "Good morning, Toby," he said, fully expecting to be insulted unintelligibly in a register only slugs could hear.  
  
"Good morning to you, Sam. How are you?" Toby replied with more of that cat-like smile. It was very...self-satisfied.  
  
Raising his eyebrows, Sam said, "Great, actually. How are you?"  
  
Toby looked up at him, fully grinning now. "I'm just fine, Sam. Just fine. Would you mind if I moved the Patterson address meeting up an hour?"  
  
"No, of course not," Sam answered amiably, if with a trace of bewilderment. He was about to leave, but his curiosity got the better of him. "Why?"  
  
Toby shrugged. "Just feeling exceptionally chipper this morning."  
  
Nodding knowingly, Sam said, "Sure. Sure," and left the office, giving Ginger a questioning look as he went.  
  
Still standing in the middle of the hallway, she shook her head, a lost look on her face.  
  
*  
  
"Josh?"  
  
"Sam?"  
  
"Brace yourself."  
  
Josh grabbed the edge of his desk and kept reading the file in his free hand. "What?"  
  
"Toby's in a good mood."  
  
Clearly mocking him, Josh said, "Call the National Guard. Something must be done," and kept reading.  
  
"I mean a really good mood. Smilingly good."  
  
"That's not a word, Mr. Speechwriter."  
  
"And 'speech writer' isn't one word, so bite me."  
  
"Not at work, honey. Maybe he got laid."  
  
Sam shook his head. "No lay is this good. Not for Toby, at least."  
  
Closing the file, Josh looked up. "What did he do?"  
  
"He said 'chipper' and asked for a nine-thirty meeting."  
  
The file made a concerned flapping noise as Josh dropped it. "What?"  
  
Sam took a deep breath and repeated the awful news, "Toby said 'chipper' and asked for a-"  
  
With a wave of his hands, Josh silenced him. "I heard what you said, I think, but I don't understand. Toby?"  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"Said 'chipper?'"  
  
"Yeah, but that's not the worst part. He said *he* was chipper. Exceptionally so."  
  
"Oh my God. The world suddenly doesn't make any sense."  
  
"I know. I'm frightened, Josh. Hold me."  
  
And he did. Two men against an unbelievably changed world. Two souls facing metaphorical meltdown. Two--  
  
*  
  
A strange sound began emanating from Toby's office. It was a high-pitched, airy sound that came in waves. First, a quiet round of 'Bridge on the River Kwai.' Then the theme from 'The Great Escape,' a little louder. 'When the Saints go Marching In' was next, followed by 'Old MacDonald,' 'Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,' and a rousing rendition of 'Mac the Knife.'  
  
Ginger was on the verge of a nervous breakdown when Josh and Sam walked past her, on their way to CJ's office. Outside Toby's door, they froze.  
  
"What's that?" Sam asked Ginger, looking around for the source of the noise.  
  
"It's him!" Ginger screamed, throwing her hands in the air and running away.  
  
The boys looked to the right, into Toby's office. He sat at his desk, lips pursed, shuffling papers around. The noise was whistling, and it was coming from Toby. Eyes round, they clutched each other again and ran for CJ.  
  
She looked up with a scathing remark on her lips as they crashed into her office. It was a really good scathing remark. She'd come up with it on Saturday night and saved it all weekend. But the look shared by the two of them (against a shift in the geopolitical power balance that threatened to upset at least one coffee trolley today, against--) wiped the corner of her mind dedicated to remembering scathing remarks clean.  
  
"What's up?" she asked lamely.  
  
They trembled as one and let go of each other. "It's Toby," Sam said desperately. "He's whistling--"  
  
"And he--" Josh broke in.  
  
CJ calmed them with a steady glance and magically soothing hand motions. "Relax. One at a time. Toby's whistling?"  
  
They nodded eagerly.  
  
"And he what?"  
  
"Said 'chipper," Josh supplied. "Right, Sam?"  
  
"He said *he* was feeling exceptionally chipper. And he wasn't being sarcastic, CJ, he wasn't," Sam continued in a grave voice.  
  
Nodding, she asked, "So I should be afraid?"  
  
In unison, they whispered, "Be very afraid."  
  
*  
  
Determined to get to the bottom of this overwhelmingly stupid situation, CJ swerved around Sam and Josh and left her office, the boys trailing behind her. Donna followed them, tugging at Josh's sleeve.  
  
"If he says, 'Take me to your leader,' I'll scream, Josh," she warned. Obviously word had gotten around to the general staff.  
  
"He's not going to say, 'Take me to your leader,' Donna. We're in the White House. Even an alien wouldn't need directions," CJ said caustically. It made up for her lost scathing remark. A little.  
  
By this time Sam was in tears and they were at Toby's office.  
  
CJ entered boldly and put her foot down. Well, both of them. Anyway, she was about to say something very acidic and surprisingly witty when Toby launched into 'She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain (When She Comes).'  
  
After a few bars, CJ was very nearly a puddle of her usually utterly solid self, and said weakly, but with her ever-present dignity (except when she's drunk, or falling into a pool, or--), "Who are you, and what have you done with my Toby? I mean, our Toby? I, of course, am secretly in love with Danny Concannon, not you. Everyone knows that."  
  
Puzzled, Toby raised his eyes from the papers he was shuffling and reading. And, significantly, stopped whistling. "Pardon me, CJ? Did you say something?"  
  
Recovering from what Donna had mentally termed the 'Evil Alien Supersonic Whistle-Ray,' CJ stacked up her formidable height and demanded, "Who are you and what have you done with our Toby?"  
  
His forehead creased in concern. "Are you alright, CJ? Do you need me to call a medic?" There was a gasp from the hallway as someone fainted, followed by the noisy clatter of an upset coffee trolley. He stood and tried to see what had happened. "What's going on out there?"  
  
With a steely glare, Leo showed up at the door, completely uncalled for. "You're happy, and you're going to tell me what the hell is going on right now."  
  
Raising his eyebrows, Toby asked indignantly, "So what if I'm happy? Is that a crime all of a sudden?"  
  
"It should be."  
  
They glared at each other in silence for a few minutes, Leo silently demanding to know why he was happy, Toby silently telling him politely to shove off.  
  
Finally, Toby decided to come clean. He patted the disk in his pocket. "I've been writing a book," he began, ignoring the pan-staff look of surprise. "It's an international espionage thing. A guy who works in the White House becomes privy to some information about a small ex-USSR country trafficking in nuclear weapons and illegal arms. So he takes it to the President and forgets about it. But then the President is assassinated, with the document in his possession, and the document goes missing at the scene. The schmoe from the White House gets all hot under the collar and goes after the dirty politicians who've been conspiring with this Eastern European country." He shrugged. "I finished it last night."  
  
"Does he get laid?" Josh asked.  
  
With an irritated sigh, Toby divulged the most important plot-point of his novel. "Yes. Why is that your biggest concern about everything?"  
  
Leo turned to eye his staff. "Can we deal with this?"  
  
They all nodded. Well, except for Sam, who sniffed and said, "I want my Toby back."  
  
This started a general murmur of discontent, for who can be content when Sam wants something? It is a recognized cause of West Wing staff-centered malaise.  
  
With a curse, Toby leapt to his feet. "You people--" he began to shout, but looked them all in the eye and realized he probably wouldn't have stayed happy all day anyway. However, there was no reason to let them know that. "Fine," he said with resignation, then hit his desk and yelled, "Fine!"  
  
Leo nodded sagely and started shooing the rest of the staff out. Toby mumbled something angrily.  
  
"What did he say?" Sam asked, suddenly his usual exceptionally chipper self.  
  
"Talk about type-casting," replied the President, strolling past on his eternal search for Lincoln's tunnel. Which probably doesn't even exist. It's actually a metaphor for his internal search (eternal/internal--see how I did that? It's called pretending you can write) through season one and season two to discover whether or not he's emotionally capable of dealing with his debilitating and potentially life-threatening illness. Or his search to regain a balanced and healthy relationship with his wife. Or his search for the childhood he lost to a tyrannical father. Or--  
  
And they all lived happily (or Tobily) ever after.  
  
The End.  



End file.
